I went through what had come to be my morning ritual, removing the bullet from the revolver, I cleaned it, carefully replaced it, then ran the chamber across the palm of my hand setting it spinning. I closed my eyes, and when the chamber finally stopped turning I drew the hammer back with my thumb, placed the barrel in my mouth, and squeezed the trigger...

CLICK !

I guess fate doesn't want me to die today.

As I placed the revolver back onto the packing crate there came a thud from the door at the top of the stairs...

“Ah Jeez... ” It had been eleven days since there'd been any noises at the door, and I was trying to pluck up the courage to take a look outside. Courage was in short supply down here, my time in the dungeon had done something to me, taken something from me, maybe I would never find the courage to leave.

THUD!

My shredded nerves got the better of me. I screamed obscenities at the stairwell, too far gone to care any more.

I almost wept with relief, taking a firm hold of the heavy bolt I slid it aside, the door slowly opened towards me...

Framed in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her twenties, she was filthy, streaked with blood and grime, her clothes ripped and scuffed, held loosely in her hand, and caked with dried blood and globs of gristle was the biggest, meanest-looking cleaver I have ever seen.

“Hi,” she said, a wide grin spreading across her face, “do you err... have anything to eat down there? I'm starving.”

* * * * *

Over the next hour or so, and between mouthfuls of tinned fish and fruit, she told me how she had survived the slaughter. How she had grabbed a bag of supplies, and made it up to one of the tower rooms. The zombies, unable to climb the ladder had eventually wandered off in pursuit of another resident who had stumbled past the doorway.

Several days later the sound of a heavy engine caused her to look from the window. Some of the survivors were making a run for it. One of the castle's tourist coaches was idling in the yard and several survivors were feverishly unblocking the main gate, whilst others fought bravely to keep the zombies at bay.

The gate unblocked and opened, the ones still left alive boarded the coach, which then drove off through the gate, accelerating all the time, and in a shower of splintering bones and spraying body fluids punched its way through the horde of living dead in the castle's outer grounds. The mass of inhumanity followed the fleeing vehicle, joined by the ones that had chased the residents from the castle's interior.

She had watched with horror as the coach ran off the road and into a tree about half a mile from the castle. Soon the area was a mass of writhing creatures trying to climb over each other to get at the meal now available to them.

Eventually, the feast over, the zombies had walked off in the direction of the city ruins, perhaps drawn by the sounds of moans from other living dead.

A few days later, her food gone, she had been forced to leave her hideout and scavenge the castle for supplies. Wandering through the body-strewn rooms and corridors she had encountered only a few of the living dead, usually trapped behind closed doors, she had then taken great delight in introducing them to her razor-sharp friend, which just now lay on the floor close beside her.

* * * * *

“I have a plan,” She said, “We'll re-seal the gate, then work our way through the castle room by room, drag all the bodies outside and burn them. We can survive here for years, I don't know if there is anyone else left alive or not, but I'm for staying put.”

I looked at this draggle-haired, dirt-encrusted, gore-splattered, post-apocalyptic angel before me...

She was awesome... Beautiful...

“It sounds like a good plan.” I said, my voice quivering slightly. “I don't know if names mean anything any more, but for what it's worth, my name's Adam.”

“Pleased to meet you Adam.” She smiled, that broad confident grin that had greeted me when I had opened the door.

“My name is Zigourney, yeah... I know... it was my dad's idea, I think he was a bit of a closet chav, but I prefer to go by my middle name, which was also my mother's name, it's Evelyn, in the old world my friends just used to call me Eve.”

Friday, 7 October 2011

As I approached them the sultry-looking guy in the centre of the group gave an almost imperceptible flick of his head, a signal to the other four, who detached themselves from the alley wall and slowly positioned themselves around me until I was surrounded.

They kept their distance for now, waiting for the word to attack.Each of them tall and well-muscled, their arms hanging loose, hands relaxed by their sides, smiles of supreme confidence on their faces as they eagerly anticipated what was to come.

I glanced across at their boss, as our eyes locked his mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt.With a click of his tongue and another twitch of his head the others started closing in.

Taking two rapid steps towards the one directly in front of me, I deflected the punch aimed at my face, grabbing the wrist and pulling at the same time, dragging him forward even faster, off balance now. Twisting my body, I planted my elbow solidly into his temple, then pushed hard as he fell, throwing him at the feet of the one to my right, tripping him, slowing him down.

The first guy hit the floor hard, he didn't get back up.

I spun round, fast, my right leg lashing out, sweeping the one on the left off his feet, continuing the spin I circled the leg into the air, and brought it down savagely onto his head as it hit the ground.

Less than than a minute gone... Two down.

Both of the others took on a more cautious stance now, I backed up a few paces, giving myself more space away from the bodies on the ground, and at the same time putting the other two within my line of sight.

The one slightly to my left aimed a very hard front kick at my solar plexus.Too slow amigo...

Grabbing the outstretched foot I continued it along its momentum arc, and pushed it higher into the air, then planted a solid kick straight into his groin. Stepping forward a pace I thrust a strong palm strike into his chin, and pushed the foot back at the same time.

He staggered backwards, hit the alley wall hard, slumped to the ground, and stayed there.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a switch-blade opening as I turned to face the last man standing.

He closed in slowly...

Holding the knife at arms length in front of him...

I stayed where I was, waiting, let him come to me...

I readied myself, hands held loose and relaxed at chest height...

He came in fast, Rapidly feinted left, then right, then left again...

As he thrust the blade forward I brushed it to my right, then went straight into his knee with the heel of my shoe, as he started going down I grabbed him, twisted him round then threw my arm around his neck from behind, holding him in a vice-like headlock, and squeezed....

His struggles soon weakened and in less than a minute I let him slump to the alley floor.

I turned to face the boss.

He gave me a wide, confident smile as he pulled the .45 from inside his jacket.

He stepped away from the wall as he raised the gun.

I made a dash towards him, I was still several feet short when the gun bucked in his hand.

“CUT!.... CUT!...

How many times do I have to TELL you? Wait until he GRABS the gun before you pull the trigger, JEEZ, we're gonna have just ONE more go at this, if you screw it up again you're off the set, I don't give a rat's ass HOW big a star you are, you're HISTORY, GOT it?”

As we all returned to our start positions I went through the routine in my head once more, the “Star” leant back against the wall, the brooding good lucks that had been his passport to stardom now seemed a trifle too sulky for a twenty four year old to be sporting.

Welcome to The Twisted Quill

On here you will find my flash-fiction. Short stories of 1,000 words or less. Ranging in genre from Sci/fi - Horror - Humour - Crime - Slice of life - and occasionally, Gross+Grisly. All comments received are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading.